


A Study in Scarlet

by SilchasRuin



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Drama, Dysfunctional Relationships, Everyone Hates Bhaal, Friendship, Gen, POV Multiple, Psychological Horror, Revisionist History, The Unfortunate Consequences of a Murderous Heritage, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 01:39:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19241230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilchasRuin/pseuds/SilchasRuin
Summary: A lot of Bhaalspawn would probably remember their first time very well. An evil Bhaalspawn might revel in the memory, while a good Bhaalspawn might not *want* to remember it. Unfortunately for the Bhaalspawn Cassandra's more-or-less willing friends, Cassandra prefers to remember her first kill...differently.





	A Study in Scarlet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grushenka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grushenka/gifts).



"The first person I killed was an assassin named Tarnesh."

Viconia DeVir pulled her hood further down over her forehead, internally cursing the glare of the hated sun. "I don't care."

"He had orders to kill us. Me and Imoen." The Bhaalspawn Cassandra's voice was inappropriately bewildered, betraying her weakness to anyone who might care enough to hear it. "We-we didn't know what to do. I mean, one minute we were safe in Candlekeep, thinking we were invincible. The worst we had to deal with was the occasional infestation of rats! Can you believe it? Rats!"

Hidden in the folds of her cloak, Viconia's fingertips twitched despite herself. Oh yes, she believed it. The surface races were careless, and filthy, and far crueler than any of them would dare to admit, especially to themselves.

"He seemed so nice at first," Cassandra continued, seemingly content to talk to herself. In the Underdark, a predator would long since have taken care of her nattering. "I couldn't believe that such a nice man would want to harm us. It just wasn't how things _worked,_ in our world. But then he was attacking us, and we-well, we defended ourselves. Imoen helped, but I was the one who struck the killing blow."

"I don't care about the fate of some worthless _iblith_. I also do not care to repeat myself." 

"No, no, we're just getting to the good part now!" the surfacer protested. "When my magic finally triumphed over his - when the Magic Missiles we used to play around with staved in his ribs and knocked the breath from his lungs - I felt so _happy_." Cassandra's breath quickened slightly, her emotions probably near-imperceptible to other surfacers, yet laughably transparent to a drow. Viconia didn't need to look at the woman to know that her cheeks were flushed, temperature rising rapidly. "It was like nothing I'd ever felt before. To know that _I'd_ sent those darts burrowing into his flesh - to see that moment when the anticipation on his face turned to terror and disbelief - I never wanted to give up that feeling. Ever again."

She didn't bother to hide the disdain in her voice. "Why do you feel the need to tell me this?"

"Because you think that it's weakness, to be so excited by a kill. Maybe it is, for you. Makes you careless, leads you to make mistakes." Her voice dropped to a purr, almost seductive in its intensity. "But you should not forget that _murder_ runs in my veins. I was born in the moment that Tarnesh's blood coated my fingers, and when my father's blood passes my lips, I will be complete."

Or, which Viconia thought was far more likely, the dead god or one of his other mad offspring would triumph, and Cassandra would fall to dust and be forgotten. She was far too eager to trust, to gain the approval of her subordinates. But the surfacer had a point. For now, it would be far more advantageous for Viconia to conceal herself in her shadow.

For now.

A small detail struck her as incongruous, though. "Magic Missiles draw no blood that I've seen. Did you cut the fool's throat when you were done with him?"

"What?" Cassandra said, startled. "Oh. Right. I'd have liked to, of course. But I couldn't, not in front of my sister. The blood was more of a clever metaphor, really."

And there the weakness was, revealed again. "Of course," she said neutrally, lip curled beneath her hood.

Cassandra basked in the tiny crumb of approval, as pathetic as a child. "I'm glad we had this little chat," she said happily.

"I am, as well." Viconia allowed herself a private little smile, malicious and contemptuous and so unlike the surfacer's own. If this was the best that their so-called god of murder could do, then perhaps their societies were even weaker than she had thought.

That was certainly something that she could use.

***

"I've never told anyone this," Cassandra confessed. "I just...I've carried it within me for so long, and I thought that you might understand. That you wouldn't judge me."

Should he lay a comforting hand on her shoulder? Would it be improper to thus console a woman so obviously in pain? Anomen hovered uncertainly, settling for bowing his head and speaking as gently as he could. "I will do my best not to judge, my lady. We are, all of us, equal beneath the Watcher."

"Oh, thank you, Anomen," Cassandra said gratefully. Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears despite the tentative smile on her face. She truly was a striking woman - lissome, well-spoken, and quite properly appreciative of his talents. He felt rather proud that she had come to him with her secret. Although it was dangerously close to unseemly arrogance, he was sure that the chivalry inherent in hearing her story would balance out his offense.

"Any time, my lady," he said, wondering if one day he might be bold enough to take her hand.

"I-" She hesitated for a moment, looking around as if to make sure there was nobody else who could hear her. "I killed someone," she blurted out, and his eyebrows shot up suddenly. That...certainly wasn't what he had been expecting, or rather hoping, to hear...

She continued. "The first person I killed was when I was seven."

With an immense effort, he just barely managed to keep his jaw from dropping. _By Helm!_ Was this what it meant to be the daughter of Murder? He tried to see her in a different light, one of false innocence and sin. But then a lone tear traced its way down her cheek, and he found that he couldn't quite manage to do so.

"I-It's not what you think," she stammered. "He-it was an accident..."

For shame. He'd given his word not to judge - well, implicitly, at any rate - and here he was, making a woman cry. "I ask your forgiveness, my lady," he said. "Please, tell me your story, if you wish."

"Oh, thank you," she said, apparently relieved, as no more tears fell to join the first. "I...I was playing with Imoen, in Candlekeep. It's where we grew up. It was a monastery, full of old scholars and bookish acolytes, and there wasn't much for small children to do there. Certainly nothing that would amuse a pair of seven-year olds. So we had to invent our own games. We made up a lot of fun ones, but our favorite was just plain old tag."

Innocent enough. But, with a vague sense of foreboding, he sensed where the story was headed. "Are you all right, my lady?" he asked solicitously when she hesitated.

"Yes, I'm sorry," she said, massaging her throat gratefully. "I just need a moment."

"Take your time," he said graciously.

"Thank you." She gave him a hesitant smile. "I'm all right now. Anyways, Candlekeep was an old building. There were a lot of twisty rooms with bookshelves and papers everywhere, which really weren't much good to play in, so often we ran around in the corridors. And on the stairs." Her shoulders drooped. "One day, we were playing tag as usual. I was running, trying to catch Imoen. I was running down the stairs, and - and Brother Petyr-"

"Helm," Anomen said softly. "You ran into him." He winced, imagining how it must have happened.

"No!" she said eyes widening. "No. No, it was worse." Worse? How could it possibly be worse? "I-I tripped over my bootlaces when I was halfway down the stairs. Brother Petyr saw me fall. He-he ran to save me, but in his haste, he tripped over his robes, and he-he..." Her eyes welled with fresh tears. "I went limp with surprise. I fell down a few steps, but I was fine. Brother Petyr, he...he fell from the top of the stairs. He didn't have a chance. I heard the crunching noise of his head hitting the ground, or perhaps it was his vertebrae grinding together, or just the snap of his neck, but...I just remember how surprised he looked, how his eyes wouldn't close and how he just was there _staring_ at me on the floor, and then I just remember screaming, and screaming, and screaming..."

Oh, Helm. That *was* worse. So much worse. "You were just a child," he managed to say when he had collected his thoughts enough to speak. "It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known that Brother Petyr would fall like that."

"But it _was_ my fault," Cassandra insisted. "If it wasn't for me, he wouldn't have been there in the first place! He wouldn't have been running! Brother Petyr _never_ ran! He was old!"

"My lady, listen to me," he said urgently, laying his hands on her shoulders as she stared up at him, eyes big. "Would Brother Petyr have blamed you for his death? Would he have resented you?"

"I...No. N-no, I don't think...he wouldn't have, but that's just because he was that sort of person-"

"Then that is your answer," he said firmly. "Brother Petyr made a choice, and he knew in that moment that what was happening was not malicious. It wasn't your fault, my - Cassandra."

"Oh, Anomen," she said gratefully, and then her arms wrapped around his back and she _hugged_ him, burying her face in his chest. Tentatively, he patted her on the back. "I was so afraid," she whispered. "I was so afraid that whoever I told would say it _was_ because of me...that it was my fault..."

A feeling of protectiveness surged within him. "I would never say that, my lady. Never." 

"Of course you wouldn't. I should have known." Her voice dropped even further, so low that he had to strain to hear it. "I should have known that you'd protect my feelings." 

"I will always do so, my lady. Always." 

He couldn't see her face, but he imagined that she was smiling, "Oh, good. That's wonderful, then. I'm glad I talked to you, Anomen." 

Well, it seemed like she was feeling better. Encouraged, he patted her on the back again. "I am glad as well, my lady." 

__

***

Something was wrong.

Something was *always* wrong, in one way or another, with these surfacers. But Anomen and Aerie had been dancing attendance on the Bhaalspawn for longer than usual - and with far more solicitousness than usual, as well - and showed no signs of stopping any time soon. At first, she had thought that perhaps the surfacer had won them over with her insipid whining. It certainly fit the personalities of the other two. But the knight looked as if he would be willing to be her meat shield at the slightest twitch of a rothe's snout, and the weak surface elf hung off Cassandra's every word with an attitude that was uncomfortably close to worship.

It didn't fit with what she knew of Cassandra. Or what she thought she knew.

The girl would be easiest to crack, and so she caught her alone on one of her walks in the woods one night, staring up at the sky wistfully and probably internally whinging about her lost wings again. "Our leader seems distracted of late," she said, and the witless girl let out a tiny shriek, scrambling upright.

"V-Viconia!"

She ignored the pointless exclamation. "Perhaps she is tired of your constant attentions," she said indifferently, and was rewarded by an angry flush from the avariel.

"Th-that's not true! We're f-f-friends. Not that you would know anything about that!" Viconia frowned at this unexpected bit of backbone, the feeling of wrongness intensifying. Something was certainly different about the girl.

"I know that surfacers consider friends to be equals." Viconia looked Aerie up and down deliberately, allowing her to see her lip curliing. "You are hardly an equal. More...one of the strays that the surfacers seem to be so fond of."

"Why do you always have to be so cruel?" the girl whined. "Y-you're so petty! It's no wonder you can't really understand f-friendship."

"I have no interest in braiding Cassandra's hair and listening to her insipid stories," Viconia sneered, and was rewarded with a small tremble. Interesting. She pushed further. "Our dear leader confides in _everyone_. A most unwise habit. Although in your case, perhaps it is born of pity."

The girl wilted for a second, then straightened again. "Sh-she wouldn't have told you. You don't understand what having a-a family is like."

_A family?_ Viconia remembered her prattling on about her precious sister - Imoen this and Imoen that, with apparently zero concern for the capabilities of the powerful mage who had stolen her - but perhaps it wasn't a coincidence that this behavior had begun only recently. "She told me," Viconia said, drawing out the words, "of her first kill." Aerie's eyes widened, but she was not quite yet at the edge of breaking. Just a little more. "She told me of...Tarnesh."

She'd miscalculated, somehow. Triumph shone in the avariel's eyes, her faith restored. "I kn-kn-knew she wouldn't tell you!" Emboldened, the avariel sidled away, unwilling to fully turn her back on Viconia. "I feel s-s-sorry for _you_ , Viconia. You can't understand empathy. Or love. Or f-failure!"

Viconia allowed her to leave, puzzling over her words. Clearly, those surfacer concepts had nothing to do with Cassandra's story of killing Tarnesh. But Aerie had responded strongly when Viconia had mentioned the story of Cassandra's first kill.

Could they have been told different stories?

***

Jan Jansen wasn't really an "alone" sort of gnome.

The squire was an okay sort of guy, if as stuck up as the leek farmers twice removed on his mother's side of the family. Turnips were obviously a superior vegetable, and denying that was just bound to bring those guys grief. The avariel, Aerie, was a nice girl, sure - but her helplessness reminded him of someone other than Aunt Lobelia, now, and he'd really prefer to be reminded of what was happening to her right now as little as possible.

The drow - well, she was more vicious than an entire pack of Fizzcranks hopped up to their goggles on illegal turnipshine, and that was really saying something.

So he hung around Yoshimo, a lot. He had shifty eyes. Uncle Cozy had always said that you couldn't trust someone with shifty eyes. And considering that he'd had the shiftiest eyes of them all and had promptly run away with the secret to breeding their Golden King hybrid crop, he'd been absolutely right.

So Jan watched Yoshimo, and talked to Yoshimo, and responded to his tales of Kara-Tur with long allegories of his own. Yoshimo didn't really seem to pick up on the subtleties, which was a shame. Or maybe he did, and those shifty eyes were just concealing his understanding. Shifty, shifty eyes.

The point was, it was a long time after the business with Lissa - poor, foolish Lissa, who deserved so much more - until Cassandra and he were left alone together.

He prepared to deflect her questions - _How are you doing, Jan? Are you okay?_ \- with another one of Uncle Scratchy's favorite anecdotes. But she surprised him.

"I have a story for you," Cassandra said.

"Oh?" He waggled his ears at her. "I like stories."

"I know you do," she replied, smiling. "This one isn't a fun story, though."

He waited.

"It's about the first time I killed someone."

This was new. "Go on, lass."

"The first time I killed someone, it was to protect my sister," she said, and oh, she had him hooked now. Perhaps she knew it, perhaps she didn't, but she continued all the same. "A lot of people passed through Candlekeep, the place where we grew up. All sorts, really. Some were nice people. Some weren't." She shrugged her shoulders, palms up. "Imoen had a talent for sneaking into things. Candlekeep's walls bored her. She hadn't begun to study magic, back then. We were sixteen. I was bookish and quiet, she...was the opposite. So, sometimes, when interesting people came through, she would see if any of them could teach her anything."

"A fellow thief," he said, but said nothing else.

"Yes," she said simply. "He must have been thrilled to find out that she was Gorion's daughter. Candlekeep possesses - sorry," she said, grimacing. "Candlekeep possessed many treasures, and not just musty tomes. There were jewels, kept away for a rainy day. Or perhaps there were simply rumors of jewels, for when we returned to its walls, we found no great hoard. Still, it was enough for Elstan." Her mouth twisted bitterly. "He thought he would use Imoen, find out where the jewels were, or maybe take her hostage or something. I don't know. But when she told me about him, I just had this..." She paused. "Have you ever just had this bad feeling about someone, something that you can't explain or put your finger on, but it's just that...you know something's _wrong_ , and you can't do anything about it?"

"Yes," he said, ice creeping into his joints. _Lissa, oh, Lissa._ "I know that feeling well, lass."

"Yeah," she said, looking away. "I...I don't know what possessed me, but I followed them, one day. I told myself I was just going to see what they were up to, maybe tease her about it later. But I think I knew. And Imoen knew, too. She asked him what he was up to, what he was playing at, and he pushed her. She fell down - she hit her head, and he pulled out a knife, and he was going to-" She shook her head. "I Held him, with a scroll I had. But she...she wasn't moving, and I wasn't thinking, and-" Her voice grew cold, all of a sudden, freezing the air around them solid. "I took the knife out of his hand, and I cut his throat."

There was silence, for a few moments. "What was it like?" he asked, wondering about Vaelag, wondering why it would be so wrong to do the right thing.

"Hard," she said, upon reflection. "He was Held in place, but it still wasn't easy. I'd never done anything like it before. I tried pressing it in first, and then just slicing across, but I was worried it wasn't enough and that he was going to wake up. So I kept going, until it was like a saw, making a red ruin of his throat, and I think he must have died halfway through but I kept going anyways. And when the Hold wore off, that's when all of the blood just absolutely erupted from him, and I knew he was dead, and all I could think of was that if Imoen didn't wake up it wasn't worth it.

"But she did wake up. I saved her."

"How did you hide the body?" He thought briefly of bringing up a story - how Uncle Cozy had so cleverly hidden his backtrail, moving through vegetable peddling intermediary after intermediary until any attempt to follow him would have been doomed to failure if not for the tenacity of turnip farmers - but it didn't quite seem like the right thing to do.

"There were places in Candlekeep that nobody went." She smiled again, small and pained. "I had illusion spells. It was enough, until she saw a healer. She never knew what I'd done for her." Cassandra met his eyes, deadly serious. "I'll do the same for you, if you want it, Jan."

"Don't waste your time, lass." He heaved a sigh. "Vaelag is untouchable. And Lissa's gone. He's hidden her. The slightest whiff of a move against him, and I don't know what he'll do to her."

"Aran Linvail knows." Cassandra's voice dropped, low and hypnotizing. "Once we get Imoen back and take out the vampires' backer, he'll _owe_ us. I can make him give us Vaelag."

Jan's breath caught as he met her intense gaze. _Shifty eyes, shifty eyes_ , he thought for some reason, but she was looking right at him, and surely it was just a misplaced memory. "A debt's a debt, as Uncle Scratchy used to say. You do that, and I-I'll owe you more than I can say."

"I know," she said, and he frowned just a little, sensing just for a moment that _feeling_ that she'd talked about, a prickling in the back of his head - and then she knelt down to his level, and said, quite seriously, "I'll help you save Lissa, or I'll die trying."

And then he was hers. How could he not be?

***

After Jan left, Cassandra stretched her arms over her head, standing on her tiptoes and swiveling around.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," she crooned.

Shaking her head, Viconia dropped her veil of Sanctuary, stepping forward. "You lied to me," she said. Not accusing, just a simple statement of fact.

"Obviously," the woman said, and her mask was dropped, her features empty of affect save for a self-satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "You lied to me first. I was just returning the favor."

"I thought you to be a witless rothe." Viconia raised an eyebrow. "Yet you have bound them to you in a fashion worthy of drow."

The smirk widened. "Why, thank you."

Perhaps it was not the most important question, but it *would* be useful to cow Aerie with later. "What did you tell the avariel girl? She was the one who led me to you, you understand."

"Oh, Aerie." The woman raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. "I was thinking of doing something different, but I went with the same story I told Yoshimo. The first person I killed was my beloved foster father, Gorion." Her features crumpled artfully, and Viconia resisted the urge to applaud. "It's my fault he's dead! If it wasn't for me, Sarevok would never have come for him...all of those poor people would still be alive..."

She hadn't pegged Yoshimo for the sob story sort of surfacer. "That worked on the thief?" she said, eyebrows raised.

Cassandra scowled. "Not completely, not yet. There's something holding him back that I can't quite figure out yet." Her confident smile returned. "But I will. It's only a matter of time."

_Interesting._ Viconia filed that little tidbit away for later. "So, what do you intend to do now that I know?"

Cassandra chuckled, short and sharp. "You want to negotiate with me?"

"You are powerful, and cunning." Viconia eyed her carefully. "If the ambition you told me of is true-" No change in the temperature of her body. "-I believe you to have a strong chance of winning. To have a goddess' favor is no small thing."

Her smile was cold. "Who says you have my favor?"

Viconia lowered her head fractionally, careful to demonstrate submission. "I will earn it."

Cassandra studied her for a moment, then nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Maybe you will," she said, unconcernedly.

Viconia controlled her features perfectly, ensuring that she wouldn't smile. The woman was not so clever after all. "May I go, Cassandra?"

"As you like," Cassandra said, waving her hand, and Viconia bowed shallowly, turned to go. Her next words froze her in her tracks. "Some day, you'll need me for something, you know."

She kept her back straight, her head high. "The drow do not need others."

"The drow do not," the Bhaalspawn agreed. "But you aren't really drow any more, are you? You're on the surface. Alone, hated by all. Living only on the sufferance of temporary allies whose reputations shield you from harm. That sounds as if you need others, to me."

"I survived before-" she began.

Cassandra sighed. "Viconia, let's not quibble over petty details. You were literally being burned at a stake when we met." Viconia heard her footsteps approaching, but kept her hood pulled down as the woman stopped in front of her. "Do you want to know what I think?" She didn't bother waiting for a response. "I think you're running from something," the Bhaalspawn said, her voice honeyed. "And I think that, one of these days, that something is going to _find you._ And when it does, it won't be the Darkness that saves you. It'll just be me."

"I could leave," she said, ignoring how hollow the words felt. "I do not need you."

"You won't leave," Cassandra said, with absolute conviction. "Because you do."

It was impossible for the surfacer to know what followed her. But she was the child of a god, and if there was even a fraction of a chance - then perhaps - "Yes, Mistress," she said, bowing her head to conceal her racing thoughts.

"Oh, none of that." A cold hand forced her chin upward, putting Viconia face to face with her lipless grin, her shadowed eyes. "We can't have any of that between friends, now, can we, Viconia?"

"No...Cassandra," she said automatically. The human turned her back on her as she walked away. Perhaps once, she might have tried for a strike, and damned the consequences. But she was too busy thinking, now, about melted candles and the maddened, fiendish glee in the eyes of Lolth's favored handmaidens. Of how, in the end, she hadn't wanted to die. And how that desire, that one thoughtless acceptance of shelter, had ensured that she would never truly be free.

Because, unlike the Spider Queen, the child of Murder did not strike her as the sort of woman who would ever grow bored of her favorite toys.

***

She'd never truly had Yoshimo.

The fury of her failure burned bright within her, making her breathing maddeningly uneven - or perhaps that was the lingering effects of the poison; it was hard to tell - and magnifying the everpresent hunger in the pit of her stomach, the headache growing behind her eyes. It would get worse before it got better, if ever, she knew, and if there was one thing that she hated it was a ticking clock.

Cassandra liked to take her time.

"You will suffer forever," she whispered to Yoshimo as he fell, twisting her dagger in his heart. Frustratingly, the terror and panic in his eyes neither withered nor grew, and she idly wondered if he'd somehow managed to see the parallels in his situation. If he'd seen through her by the end.

Well, no matter. It was a mistake that she would never allow to happen again.

"He would have hurt all of us. He hurt and betrayed my sister," she said, loudly enough that her other party members could hear. "I couldn't let him go, for that. I hope you understand."

They nodded, and made expressions of sympathy - even Viconia, who was quite the quick learner. Well, all of them except for Imoen, her once-dancing eyes hollow and vacant, dark brown roots liberally seeding her ragged pink hair.

Cassandra carefully led her past the stacked bodies, keeping up a steady stream of soothing words. She placed one hand on her sister's shoulder, gently tilting her chin upward with the other hand and waiting for the other woman to speak first.

"I knew you'd come for me," Imoen said eventually, voice jagged and broken. "I _knew_ it." Cassandra smiled. Ah. *There* was the proper gratitude and appreciation. The proper amount of devotion and love that was her due.

"Of course I came for you, silly," she said, squeezing her lightly. "I wouldn't leave my sister alone. I'm the one who loves you best, aren't I?"

Imoen collapsed into her waiting arms, shoulders shaking with sobs. "I know," she choked out. "I know-I know..."

Somewhere deep down, they'd probably all wanted to know, hadn't they, about the first person she'd killed? That was why they'd stayed and listened, after all. That was why they were hers.

They'd wanted to know, right? But there was, after all, one truth. One which none of them would particularly want to hear, but one that she knew anyways.

So, listen:

She hadn't really lied. It had all been to protect Imoen. Elstan, that worthless thief, head full of dreams, couldn't have been allowed to take her away. Cassandra wasn't a _monster._ All that stupid boy had had to do was agree. Yes, he'd stay with Imoen in Candlekeep. No, the open road with some penniless, dull-witted brat was certainly not suitable for a girl of Imoen's calibre. Yes, he'd listen to Imoen's sister.

He hadn't even suspected something was wrong when she'd Greased the stairs while his back was turned; while she'd waited patiently as he looked around nervously, a forged meeting note clutched in his hand. He hadn't even managed to cry out when she'd pushed him down the stairs, businesslike and efficient, listening for the sharp crack of his spine and testing his breath with a mirror as she wiped the grease from his bootheel, well-aimed Magic Missiles at the ready just in case.

Imoen had been inconsolable for a few weeks after, which had made her feel just _awful._ But she'd gotten over the unfortunate accident soon enough, thanks to her big sister. Cassandra would always be there for Imoen. She would make her her first Chosen, when she became a goddess. And Cassandra would remain as Imoen's most important person. Her sister would still love her when she was a goddess, of course. That went without saying. She looked over Imoen's shoulder at her four remaining companions, perfectly attentive; frowned slightly as her attention traveled towards the island of Brynnlaw, the ships outside. The world beyond.

Imoen would love her, of course.

They all would.

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt: A short about the first time your charname murdered someone. How did they feel? Was it inspired by their divine heritage? Was it for fun? Or was it out of necessity (defense or the like)? Where were they? Who were they with?
> 
> By the time Baldur's Gate 2 was over - not even counting the expansion - I couldn't even remember the first non-monster character I killed. Now that I've played it through an embarrassing number of times, I *still* can't remember the first character I killed. Probably someone in Irenicus' dungeon. And the order of the kills probably changed from playthrough to playthrough. To address the prompt, I thought I could play around with the idea of a Bhaalspawn who *does* remember her first kill, but who is so used to changing her personality to manipulate other people that she keeps changing her conception of that first defining kill as well. It's a good thing for Cassandra that her Nymph Cloak and godlike charisma didn't go to waste...


End file.
